Hugh J. O'Donnell

Late one night I snuck out of the Centaur village.
I’d heard that the humans had created terrible new guardians, and I had to know the truth for myself.
And there, at the edge of the settlement, I saw them, bathed in the moonlight.
They were horrifying. Their bodies were a twisted parody of the lower half of a centaur, ending in a mockery of a minotaur’s face. They were the embodiment of chaos itself. And then one of them saw me.
The Chaos went ‘Moo.’
In a panic, I raced back home, vowing to never bother the humans again.

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I watched as we approached the lunar surface in a docking pod. The tower was a nightmare of spikes and protrusions. It had been designed by the Master of Armstrong City himself and was one of the only ways in or out.
Spikes closed around the pod like the jaws of a prehistoric fish. We were guided into the central elevator of the compartment, which seamlessly descended to the spaceport.
I’d heard that with the pod attached, the tower resembled a rose. But no visual was supplied to the public. The city bloomed only for the eyes of its master.

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She told herself she wasn’t a supervillain.
A vigilante, sure. She would accept that. Perhaps she would go so far as a rogue. But she was no villain. She really was something of a hero.
It was true that she had committed acts of violence in revenge. There was no getting around that. And the police were after her. But her mission changed after that. She might be on the wrong side of the law, but she pursued her own justice.
The Lacromista loaded her freeze gun with tears and set out into the night to avenge another broken heart.

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The northern raiders left at dawn to pillage the southern islands. Their boats were crewed by warriors with hearts of steel, and guided by wise men who read the stars and commanded the wind.
The ships returned heavy with gold. They traded it to the traveling merchants, exchanging their plunder for fine swords and good timber to build their boats.
The raiders never wondered where the islanders’ treasure came from. They didn’t consider what the merchants did with the gold when they left.
Five generations of warriors took the same golden necklace before the raiders caught on to the scam.

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After the sea rose and the island sank, a memorial was built to all that was lost beneath the water.
The monument was a recreation of a simple pedestrian crossing. It was erected in what was once the heart of a great city, and children would climb the steps and imagine looking out at a labyrinth of skyscrapers.
It was a bridge to nowhere from nowhere, set in an expanse of empty sea that was as still and clear as glass.
And yet somehow that didn’t prevent boats that were too tall to pass under from getting stuck beneath it.

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The haunted doll had the misfortune of being made in the ‘80s. The other monstrous playthings had real hair with tragic backstories, or porcelain skin fired from graveyard dirt. She had injection molded plastic and a pull string.
While there was something unsettling about her, especially as the years passed and she cracked and faded, she felt like she wasn’t cursing the living to her full potential.
Still, there was always that one person who would see the ring on her back and give it a tug just to see what would happen. Curiosity and Horror went so well together.

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